Nine One One
by SilyaBeeodess
Summary: The Fabrication Machine was destroyed and only four remain to live the last essences of life left in the world-a world that's barren and empty of all but themselves, perhaps even beyond saving. The battle is over: Whether or not they had truly won remains to be seen. But what if the war hasn't quite yet ended?
1. Chapter 1

Only a month had passed, yet the pain of their tragedy still clung fresh.

The now extinct humans had a saying: Time heals all wounds. But could time even matter to beings such as themselves whose assessment of the passing of time was vastly different? They did not live as the humans had, or even claim a similar state of fragile mortality. Therefore, they were not entirely bound by a thought of time well spent or of time running out.

They need not eat. They need not drink. They didn't age. Sleep did them well, but was not a requirement of survival. Indeed, all that was needed to sustain their forms was the occasional replacement of cloth skin and wooden or metal parts. Yet they knew what it was to think and feel—to ache as real flesh sometimes did or to take a breath in both panic and relief.

Not to say that death was unknown, but it came less easily.

They were the in-between of life and death: They had the heart of the soulful and the form of the soulless. Such had always been their existence since their first awakenings. The very thought that the last essence of life hid within a mechanized shell!

He almost understood—and dare he admit have sympathy for—the Fabrication Machine's maddened quest of slaughter, even after the last of mankind had been eradicated from the Earth. It wasn't simply a matter of revenge, or finishing what started many years ago.

The Machine wanted the one thing it could never have or replicate—a human soul.

What was it like to destroy the sole purpose you were made for in a single lost moment? To have nothing, feel nothing, and know nothing outside of one's primary function?

Humans, however… They were born with nothing. Faith their only knowledge of their creator and philosophy their only knowledge of their purpose, and those they had to learn on their own. Yet in this nothingness beheld unimaginable freedom—a freedom to choose. They _chose_ whether to let emotion or knowledge guide their actions. They _chose_ what they would embrace as their purpose in life and what things should matter most. Most of all though, only they chose to make a moral decision—without the orders or influence of their masters. The most complicated and dangerous of creatures that had once lived had also been the most beautiful of spirits. What defined them all came down to the choices they made.

The Stitchpunks were the only abiotic beings offered that choice, endowed to them by their creator. The Machine had wanted what they had, and had no moral understanding of the destruction it caused.

It was their purpose to preserve the little life left in the world that resided within them; the last breath of humanity.

Five of them had already perished before knowing that: Only four remained. That was all that was left in the world, for both mankind and machine—all that was left to guard the talisman until their forms slowly fell beyond repair and there truly was nothing left in the world.

The world was entirely their own, but as he walked through the Emptiness—surrounded by rotting remains, shreds of shrapnel, and smashed bricks piled high in mounds of debris—Nine couldn't help but wonder what to make of it or what could possibly be done.

The rain had been an anomaly, for it hadn't rained in many years according to the data found in the library—the place where he, Three, Four, and Seven made their home. Despite all their research, they didn't know what to make of it or what it meant for their future. They only knew that it had been no strange chance of fate.

What other anomalies could now be found after the rains? Perhaps it signaled something brighter in their future, as bright as the light of the sun that had finally broken through the omnipresent smog above them—yet another strange occurrence?

The pile up of questions had brought him here, following the dusty, broken road leading to The Scientist's ruined dwelling. He had searched it over many a time, yet no answers had appeared as of now. He could only hope that something somewhere was hidden away from sight—lying undiscovered under the piles of books, papers, and old wooden boards.

He couldn't help but to pause in his trek before climbing of the large steps made for a much larger sentient, sparing a mournful glance over to the long since cold fire pit. Few ashes remained—blown away by the strong winds that often passed through here—however, the memories seemed to never fade. The unspoken goodbyes, the last smiles that had been shared, the ghostly essences of the deceased softly floating up towards a darkened sky.

Nine had done all that could be done to make amends to them, yet he still blamed himself. So, alone, he fell on his knees before the pit. His head fell into his wood and cooper hands and his fingers dragged over the top of his skull, metal scraping the metal underneath.

Seven had said to him that they were free, yet he still endured the agonizing entrapment of his own guilt for their deaths. He could only see their smiles as forgiveness he did not deserve, and only hope that whatever creators the humans had believed in would accept the soul fragments of The Scientist into their kingdoms. Perhaps there they would be truly free and not simply lost to the wind and sky.

A strong breeze tore through him and from behind himself he heard the clatter of old, rusted cans falling from the junk piles to roll across the dry earth. It would've broken the silence had his inner turmoil not been making so much noise.

How could it have come to this? How could he have prevented it? One had been right from the start that it was his fault Two was taken captive to later have his soul ripped out, even if he had only made the accusation to defend his own stance. Maybe there are some moments where there's little time to think—and so new was he to the post-apocalyptic realm he had awoken to that he hadn't known what to do or what sort of monster would be faced—but so often Nine wished he would've called Two to hide with him, or had been brave enough to fight alongside him. It would've been a long shot, but maybe together they could've escaped and this entire mess could've been avoided. So many lives could've been spared...

The tremors were so slow to build that he didn't notice them until the pebbles at his feet began to tremble—rattling loosely along the ground. Removing his hands from his face, he peered at the miniscule stones in both question and worry. The signs common prior to sand storms hadn't appeared, and though the winds were strong, they weren't bad enough for that sort of weather. Still, any storm could appear at any moment and the weather had only gotten stranger as time wore on. Nine rose to brush away the sand from his burlap skin, turning around to find cover as the tremors grew.

He couldn't hold back his panicked gasp as he watched a huge monster unlike any he'd ever seen race toward him, a trail of dirt and dust flying into the air as it charged. Covered in a mix of ruined leather, torn cloth, and aged canvas wrap that warped about the figure like tendrils—a badly damaged helmet from the Great War upon its head and a hideous face with two large, glassy eyes and a long, tubular snout connecting to a square container of something at its side.

Nine did the only thing he could do: He ran.

He had no weapons—he didn't think to bring any weapons! The Fabrication Machine had been the last of them, and its creations had been destroyed in the massive blast that overtook the factory! What was this…this _thing_?!

It was quickly gaining; it would be on top of him at any minute.

He couldn't fight, but he could hide! The monster was much smaller than the Fabrication Machine, but at least five times larger than the Cat Beast. He could get up the stairs to The Scientist's home quick enough, but if he could just reach the right sort of cover—

It was close now—so very close! The pounding steps rattling the earth not far behind made it difficult to run. He could hear a constant, loud hiss of air as whatever pumps and gears made such a beast function pushed stale air in and out of its body. It was going to kill him: It was going to crush him!

At the last moment, he dove into the safety of an empty bombshell trapped beneath a pile of crumbled stone. Falling back, he crawled until his spine met a dead end. The split seconds seemed to take minutes and minutes took hours as he waited for something—_anything_ to happen: A large foot sliding in front of the only escape before the can, and a surge of panic coursing through as the beast tried to dig out the bombshell before pouring him out into its grasp; a hand reaching inward, cold fingers blocking out all light as they curled around his form; one of those unsettling eyes peering at him like the trapped prey he was.

He would find a way; he had too! He had to survive for Three, and Four, and Seven, and all those who had died before him. He couldn't be taken like this so soon after so brief a reprise from the nightmare he had escaped, nor could he fall to such cruel irony as this to die in the same sick way he thought he would on the day he first awoke.

He tried to slow his panicked breaths, gazing long and hard at the opening. _Wait,_ he ordered himself,_ Wait until the last second._ Wait until the beast had thought it had him, than escape in whatever narrow opening was available: Run away as it tore through stone to dig out the shell, slip through the gaps of its fingers before they could curl, smash against the glass eye and flee to further sanctuary. Survive. He would survive!

Its feet skidded to a halt right before him to spin around; facing the direction the creature came from. "Come out, you pest…" he heard the creature say above the hisses in a muffled, mechanic voice.

He was both baffled and frightened by the monster's speech—a show of intelligence greater than in the other demonic machines he had seen. It didn't move: _He_ didn't move. It didn't make any advance to attack: He didn't make any advance toward the opening. Neither his curious nature nor his surprise would make him near what could be a member of new species of metal terrors.

A deep growl sounded outside, low and menacing; it made his optic pupils shrink with fear. The clattering clanks of rock and glass bouncing on aluminum and tin sheets echoed inside, vibrating off the walls of the cylinder. Suddenly its feet shifted in place to point in his direction as a sharp intake of air sliced through the still moment, followed by a demonic screech.

His feet slid across the bottom of the bombshell as the instinct to escape coursed through his circuits, as if he could back himself further away. Still, he only found himself curling up, drawing his knees to his chest to make himself smaller and cradling along the curved wall.

The horrid noises never ceased… But nothing happened.

Confusion drowning out paranoia, Nine took a few cautious steps toward the opening. Enough so that he could run in an instant of trouble—just so close that he could see what the beast was doing.

It fell— its back slamming into the ground with enough force to rattle dust which rained over the lip of the bombshell— a primitive cry ringing out from it. Its hands were flung above itself, wrestling with something. Something…

"Oh no…" Nine voiced in a disbelieved whisper. It was impossible…

The creature was wrestling with a Cat Beast.

Seven had killed a Cat Beast—what he had thought to be the _one and only_ Cat Beast—back when the others had still been alive. Not long after he had first awoke: When they had tried to save Two. Spotting another was shocking as well as terrifying. Still, it was better for that the two monsters destroy each other than sniff him out.

Unfortunately, one of the parts of the Scientist's soul he had inherited was an insatiable curiosity. He couldn't help but wait and watch to see who would be the victor, and later which would be the bigger threat.

The large beast managed to squirm into a sitting position, and it was now that he saw that the Cat Beast had bitten into the leather at the former's forearm and that the first monster was trying to yank the other off. However, the Cat Beast was incredibly persistent, latching on with terrible force—fangs sunk deep into the leather.

The former swiftly rolled over on top of it, crushing the Cat Beat with its own mass. The spikes on its back stuck into the earth and its clawed feet kicked out against the first, to no avail. Still, the claws tore apart the cloth and leather at its chest further, and it let out a horrid cry as if in pain.

Pushing itself up, the giant monster raced off, leaving the other trapped in the dirt. The Cat Beast struggled to stand, shaking left and right to pull itself free from the ground. Slowly, piece by metal piece, the spikes were yanked out of the ground. It spun in place, getting back on its feet to run the way the other had gone.

The giant was already waiting for it. As the Cat Beast lunged, the other hefted a large piece of rebar from a pile of rubble. It held the piece above its head, fingers curling around the bar in anticipation.

Finally it swung, hitting the approaching Cat Beast with all its might to send it soaring into a broken wall from a nearby destroyed building. Sparks flew as the creature slammed with full force into the brick and fell limply to the ground.

The giant didn't waste a moment. Running over to the fallen monster and continually smashing the rebar at its much smaller frame, it let out a primal scream with each swing.

Up, down, _bam!_ Up, down,_ crack!_ Up, down, _fzzt! _Up, down, _smash! _The latter was nothing more than broken chunks of bone and metal by the time former was done. Once the gruesome, brutish act was complete and the Cat Beast moved no more, it stood there—frozen in time—air heavily hissing in and out of it.

And now it was time for Nine to make his exit, before the creature caught on to his presence and turned that horrifying, destructive ability on him. As quickly and quietly as possible, he scrambled out of the can and began to retreat to The Scientist's former home. He hurried up the large steps—often looking back to make sure the surviving monster still hadn't caught on. All it did was stare at the fallen form of the Cat Beast—'breathing' deeply— as if in meditative contemplation of its actions.

So distracted was he by his frightful interest in the creature, as he reached the top step he accidentally knocked over a small piece of shrapnel. The bit skidded over the edge before he could stop it.

It clinked with every bounce down until it hit soil. The monster's glassy gaze snapped his way.


	2. Chapter 2

_((__**Review Replies:**_

_**EtherealX:**__ Happy to have my first reviewer for this! I figured this would be more of a story I wound up doing for fun and to fill the void the movie left from where I wanted more. XD I hope you enjoy reading it!))_

Nine fled into the protection of the building, trying all he could to ignore the loud crunch of soil under heavy feet and the thudding of steps quickly bounding the stairs. "Stop!" he heard the robotic voice shout behind him.

He didn't listen— retreating past the gaping hole in the hall that shattered through the levels in between this floor, revealing the expanse of the Emptiness below; past the shards of broken glass, rotting bits of wooden furniture, and scorched shreds of ruined plaster; past the putrefying remains of The Scientist that had given him life—and made way to hide in the corner of a bookshelf and desk. Again, he found himself trapped only this time his chances of escape fell even slimmer. Not unless jumping out of a window to crash into a multitude of pieces counted.

"Stop!" repeated the beast with feverish insistence. He watched it stumble up the stairwell, arms extended as if in flight or to balance itself at the sound of the creaking floor beneath its feet. Good: With any luck maybe the floor would give out from underneath it and it would plummet to its demise.

No such luck as the thing carefully trod along the hall to enter the very room he had scuttled into. He hid deeper within the shadow of the shelf, squeezing in between the narrowing crack. It paused at the doorframe, looking about the room as if scanning it—which it likely was—before continuing onward. It staggered back at the sight of The Scientist's rotting corpse—blackened and curled from prolonged decay—and paused, a hand flying in front of its face. It kept still like that for a long while before shaking its large head as if remembering its original purpose for coming here and sidestepping the body.

"Come out," it ordered, and he pushed himself to the farthest recesses of the crack that he was allowed, closing his camera shutter eyes tightly. That is… until he heard something that surprised him. "Please."

_Please?_ He blinked, peering just barely from his hiding place to watch the monster. It looked around thoroughly, but still failed to spot him. Its hands fumbled under the helmet covering its cranium and he heard the sound of clicking straps. A final, singular hiss echoed through the room as the metal face was tugged away from the creature—only a brief moment of hesitation appearing in its stance before it was removed and held at its side.

He was shocked to see a pale face, a _human_ face, reveal itself from behind the metal one. At least, he believed it was human; the only member of the species he had ever seen had been the deceased Scientist—he and the backs of two other dead humans. Therefore, he wasn't aware of the variability in appearance of the creatures. Numbed to complete stillness, he took in every detail.

He wasn't quite sure how to describe its facial structure, but the frames of its sunken in cheeks and gentle features were greatly different than the Scientist's masculine ones—more like Seven's. Underneath striking, though tired, green eyes and trailing over the bridge of its nose dotted a string of little brown specks. The thin, yarn-like strands upon its head of which he had no name for were short, curly and messy; colored a shade of greatly aged parchment or of caramel toffees and tangled with bits of dirt and dust.

Now still, the cloth and leather 'tendrils'—so he had imagined them—were revealed only to be the shredded remains of what was left from a variety of military gear from The Great War: mismatched gauntlets and greaves, a cadet's shirt and general's coat, an ill-fitting pair of boots worn from wear. A blend of dark green and black hues as an oppressing testimony to the sorrowful past.

This one also seemed quite smaller in comparison to The Scientist—or at least to the height The Scientist had previously reached before his current state. Could it have been a member of a better adapted sub-species perhaps?

"It's alright," it continued, both hands covering its nose and eyes blinking rapidly at what he figured it smelled. Stitchpunks lacked the bodily function so he couldn't quite understand it, but could assume it was miserable. "I won't hurt you: I'm a friend."

If he had the organ, his heart would've skipped and shattered. The only other time Nine had heard those words were right before Two had been viciously beaten then kidnapped by a Cat Beast. The very sentence itself came as yet another painful reminder of his guilt, and he wondered if the same pretense of danger lied in wait behind it.

At the same time, however, it was this final variable that goaded him out of hiding despite his reservations.

He allowed it time to find him itself rather than called for its attention, assessing it as it looked about and debating his sensibility in the matter. Unlike during its bout with the Cat Beast it seemed a bit more docile and vulnerable in demeanor; giddy intrigue to their meeting a polar opposite to his own terrified curiosity. There was also something in its eyes that seemed reminiscent of a time before the war—a happier era as described in the books at the library.

When it finally spotted him, a small part of him shrunk back under its gaze. Nonetheless, a wide grin split across its face upon sight of him and the creature stumbled forward before dropping on both knees in front of him. It said nothing more; it simply looked down upon him as if waiting for him to make the first move.

"H-hi?" he ventured timidly, unsure if even speaking would be the right action.

"Hi!" it cheered, beaming down at him behind its upraised hand, "You're one of those soul things, aren't you? You're a Stitchpunk?"

For a minute he didn't answer, but eventually stuttered, "Y-y-yes? And—if you don't mind me asking—what are you?"

"Me?" it seemed a little disappointed at his inquiry, but answered anyway, "I'm a person—a girl."

_A girl?_ he wondered. Seven identified herself as a 'girl', so he assumed that what this creature meant, even though he couldn't exactly discern the difference between 'girl' and 'boy' as Seven was the only 'girl' he thought he had seen. Genders aside, what if the creature really was…

"Are you…" he peered closely at 'her', still unsure, "human?" Perhaps it was a being similar to his own internal design: A cyborg of sorts. She nodded rapidly, the happy gleam in her eyes returning. The unbelievable answer stunned him into near silence, but still he pressed on, "But… but how? Humans are extinct. A gas killed everything—during The Great War."

"You say that like you think it's over," she snorted. The look on his face must've revealed the truth, for she raised a brow and asked, "You _do_ know what's happening outside the city, right?"

He shook his head. What _was_ going on for a human to still exist? For another Cat Beast to appear? For The Great War to continue? It went against everything he had learned from the other Stitchpunks, yet he stood the evidence, soft flesh and all. Could this just be a delusion?

"And here I thought it was just part of his memory loss…" she muttered, flitting her eyes away and scratching the back of her head. She gagged for a moment before remembering to keep her mouth and nose covered. She continued, "Well… This is sorta awkward. How about we start over?" She jutted out her free hand toward him. "I'm Sarah. What do the call you, little Stitchpunk?"

"Nine," he answered, glad to have a name for the strange being towering over him. He wasn't certain what the gesture meant at first, but took one finger between his much smaller hands, evoking a soft giggle from the girl as she carefully shook it up and down in greeting—a step in the right direction for her and a foreign custom for him. All the same, he made the tiniest of grins.

All of a sudden her eyes went wide and she retracted the hand offered. Her form curled forward as a chain of strangled coughs took over: Her chest began to heave as she found it more difficult to breathe. Nine stepped back to give her room, unsure of what to make of the sight or how to help. Spitting up phlegm, her hands frantically searched for her mask. The minute she touched it, she shoved it up to her face, gulping down deep breaths of air.

Slowly, her breathing began to return to normal.

He didn't know what that meant for a human, but he bet it wasn't normal or good. "Are you ok?" he asked.

It took her a few seconds, but slowly the girl nodded. "It's hard to breathe," she explained, "in the city. The air's not as clean as it is outside—even there it isn't very clean. I probably don't really need this, but I'm worried about setting off a sleeping bomb."

She must have meant the gas bombs. Still he wondered aloud, "Sleeping?"

"One that didn't blow up when it was launched. The city can be a mine field if you're not careful." She readjusted the straps of the mask, the robotic tone in her voice returning as she does so.

There were so many questions he felt he should ask—that he _needed_ to ask. Still, one thing nagged at his attention above all others. This 'he' she mentioned… What did she mean and how did they know anything about his kind? "S-Sarah," he said, testing the name out and finding it fitting despite his being used to calling others by a number, "Who were you talking about just now? Who has memory loss?"

"Another one of you," she answered simply. When he just gaped in reply, she further elaborated, "I didn't know much about Stitchpunks besides what I heard on the radio a long time ago—back when the war was taking place in the city: I didn't even think there were any of you out there because no one ever saw you. The newspeople kept saying things about you guys helping out in the war, but no one ever believed you even existed.

"It was after the rains when I finally saw one of you. He's pretty weird though, and he spaces out a lot. Still, he's really nice and he's been watching Peggy and Peter and Rosie while I've been gone—"

"There are more of you?" he couldn't help but exclaim.

"Yes, and interrupting is not polite, as my mama once said," she chided good-naturedly before continuing to ramble, "Anyway, he's very nice—reminds me a lot of my grandpa before he passed away. I think you'd like to meet him if you could sometime. I don't know where you live, but we're far beyond the city, so you'd have to sleepover if you came to visit." With each new thought that came to mind, she seemed to grow more and more excited at the prospect of the ideas. "You can sleepover tonight if you want, but you'll have to be ready real fast. There's not much time left before I have to go anyway before it gets dark: That's when curfew starts—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he held up his hands as if that would slow down the stream of chatter from the human female. The thought of coming anywhere with this creature both frightened and intrigued him: He wanted answers before he made any sort of rash decision, not to mention Three, Four, and Seven would be in a panic if he went anywhere without telling them so and didn't make it back before nightfall. There was also the matter of the other Stitchpunk she mentioned. Who could possibly still be out there, unless The Scientist or some other human had created them, though he believed The Scientist or any of the others would've mentioned something this important if they knew.

He might as well ask who this stranger Stitchpunk was. If he at least had something to call them by, maybe the others would have some idea of who they were and why they were separated so far from the rest of their kind in the first place. "I don't know if that's such a good idea," he stated, covering quickly so not to hurt the human, "You seem nice, but… I don't know you, or this other Stitchpunk. There aren't many of us. What's their number?"

"Interrupting is not polite," she reminded him again, standing to brush the dust off of her ruined clothing. She started heading for the doorway, whether or not he followed behind her a mild concern. "Two," she answered.

It didn't take much else to convince him to keep up with her.

_((__**Author's Note: **__Sorry this chapter's so short and a bit rushed: There isn't much to their meeting besides mind-boggling revelation and shock for Nine, and most of what I have planned for the story fits better in the upcoming chapter. Don't worry: More will be explained soon. It's just that Sarah isn't the best person to ask to explain… Well, anything, and that will be explained later too.))_


	3. Chapter 3

The city sands convulsed around their feet as they passed; to Nine, Sarah's movements across the ravaged landscape sputtered miniature dust storms before him during his attempts to match her pace. So great were the two troubles that he had been made to request aid from the giantess to where he now sat upon her shoulder, gripping tightly with both hands to the worn strap keeping the helmet in place atop her head—otherwise the overly large piece would slip right off.

How strange and new it was to see what humans saw from this height and feel the odd motions that muscles—muscles that could tire or spring with some random burst of energy—made, sometimes clumsy or graceful, but never expected. And beneath him was not only a bloom of warmth, but a gentle, pulsing ripple just under the layers of skin—actual skin of flesh instead of cloth. Removing one hand from the strap he placed it beneath the garments to feel against the skin, first tracing a hard piece of her skeletal structure before finding a very noticeable throbbing sensation within one area of flesh in particular, as if something else were alive within the girl.

"What's this beating?" he wondered aloud.

She giggled, the action sending a soft quake vibrating throughout her chest and shaking Nine in turn, "I think you found a pulse."

"What's that?"

"It's this thing that lets you check your heartbeat," she explained, a hand overlapping his form as she made her way over a pile of debris that blocked their path—lose stones smacking against one another as they broke away from the mass to clatter as they tumbled down—and her free arm extended as if in flight. Nine looked at her, expecting further elaboration, but received none. Sarah noticed his confusion, casting him a sidelong glance, and said, "Sorry, there's not much else I know about that sort of stuff."

This came as a mild surprise to him. A Stitchpunk could easily tell another how they functioned, and could repair themselves with little difficulty—so long as the necessary tools and parts were within reach. He debated with himself over her lack of knowledge to her own physiology, but eventually came to the conclusion that, since humans couldn't get to their inner functions as easily as a Stitchpunk could—he himself had a zipper that could easily be opened for quick access—it was only logical that they wouldn't know how their bodies worked.

After rounding the next block, Sarah's pace began to slow—despite their still being in the mist of broken buildings instead of their intended destination. Nine looked at her questioningly before his gaze snapped toward the object of which she approached: a bicycle that had seen more use than any of its time in the past, the tires stable, but worn and nearly flat; the seating torn so that the plastic poked through the leather; the paint dulled or scratched away, with patches of rust in its place. A wooden basket, bearing cans and boxes of food in equally poor condition, was strapped to the front.

Stepping up to the bike, Sarah dug through her clothes and began to pull free small packages from beneath them. Nine peered down at recognized some of the labels as items he had seen amid the wreckage of the city as she brought them out and deposited them into the basket: Camay soap, Licorice Snaps, Spam. "You collect this stuff from the ruins," he deduced, receiving a nod and soft smile in turn. It was just like Two had said: _If you know where to look, these ruins are full of riches. _It was clear to him that the girl indeed knew what riches were there and where they could be found, so how come he had never seen here before? Or better yet, why had the other Stitchpunks before him thought the species was extinct when one roamed about scavenging the area?

"I don't usually go this deep into the city," she clarified, as if reading his mind, "It takes too long to travel in and out, even with my bike. Normally I just go through the houses and stores right along the edge, but it's been getting harder and harder to find things." Again, she held a hand up to hold him steady as she righted the bike and hefted one leg across it. Sarah carefully made sure she, the bike, and the items in tow where stable before removing her hand to clasp the rails. "But a while back, I saw smoke, not far from here. I got to thinking… Maybe it could be other survivors. I guess the machines got the same idea though: They've been getting more and more active lately around here as well where before, they pretty much just ignored this area completely."

"It wasn't survivors," Nine muttered softly, "Trust me." He didn't want to disappoint her, but what she had likely seen was smoke from the factory. Even after the rains, the remains of that nightmare of a place burned and smoldered for some time. Either that or maybe she had seen the church burn down, which was equally as likely for though the fires had extinguished faster, the church was nearer and the smoke had bloomed large enough to possibly attract attention from however far she may have come from. The fire that had been made in ceremony to those parted from this world had been too small and there was no other source that he knew to exist.

"Oh…" She went silent for a long moment after that, and just by a tone he knew that a glimmer of hope had been dashed. He assumed that if there were more of her kind that she knew, there weren't many of them, and that the mere chance of finding others was little more than an astronomical dream.

As she started bike, Nine gripped tightly to the cloth beneath him. "S-S-Sarah!" he cried out in surprise, "Is there somewhere… safer, that I could ride along?" Atop her shoulder, without much to hold onto besides her clothing and the strap of her helmet, he felt in a very precarious position. And whatever speed the bike may have gone, he felt it would be too fast for his liking in such a state of imbalance.

"Oh!" she gasped, gently picking him up to place him in the basket, "Sorry! I didn't think about that!"

"Thanks," sighing in relief, he hefted himself over the box of Licorice Snaps and a dented can of tomato soup so to see above the basket's lip. As the bike picked up speed once more, he watched as the world whizzed past—a blur of shapes in melancholic shades of amber, brown, and grey with only the occasional streak of a sickly green to break it. The bike jarred and bumped about as it ran across the gravelly remnants of the streets, clearer than in the parts of the city that they left behind.

"If there are still machines around," he turned to ask with a twinge of fear, "Why are we out in the open like this?"

"They're around alright; just not here. Not yet, anyway," she replied, without looking away from the direction in which she peddled, "Most of the machines are out beyond the city limits, just like the others and I are. Sure, it's risky sneaking around in the daytime, but they mostly hunt at night. _Mostly._" She grunted, hitting a pothole before swerving about to keep the bike balanced. Soon, it maintained its semi casual course. "That's what we call curfew—when those things really start to search. Typically, if you can find a good place to hide before nightfall, you're safe. If not…" Her voice drifted off.

He didn't need her to explain further there: He had witnessed firsthand that kind of savagery the machines were capable of inflecting upon the living.

"I don't know how long you little guys have been around, but the city fell not all that long ago. And there's _a lot_ to the city—more than just the downtown area back there. The outskirts aren't in any better shape than this and that's where the machines hunt most, but its livable and, to be honest, I don't know if there's anywhere else to run to that's any safer.

"So far, it's just been Peggy, Peter, Rosie, and me though. I haven't seen anybody else, not for a while. There used to be more of us, but the machines got them—took them away. I don't know if there's anybody else hiding out there."

"What do you mean they took them away?" Nine asked. He hadn't known any of the machines to kidnap humans, not from the records shared by Three and Four anyway.

"After the Fabrication Machine was brought down—or at least that's what was said when the radios still worked—the other machines needed somebody else to work on them, right? Or that's my guess. It was only after that happened that they started taking people alive." She looked away for just a brief moment, just long enough to cast a quick glance up at the darkening sky. "I shouldn't have come this far…" she mumbled worriedly. "We should keep quiet, Nine. Just until we get back home. The bike is making enough noise; I don't want them to hear us if some decide to start looking early."

He nodded in agreement—even though she likely didn't see the action—and hunkered down instinctively. In the silence that followed, his thoughts returned to Two. Was he really alive and if so how was it impossible? Though the impossible continued to occur throughout this day, he had been there were Two's soul was ripped free from his body and he had seen what the Fabrication Machine had done with what remained.

And if Two was alive… The thought of seeing him again admittedly scared him. It had been his foolish actions that had led to the kind Stitchpunks demise. Despite how much he wanted to see him again, he wasn't sure if he was ready to face that.

It was too late for second-guessing or turning back now.

It was nearly nightfall when they reached the far outer wall of the city—to where only a few decimated buildings dotted the barren land. The bike slowed to a stop and Sarah hopped off, tugging it along before resting it against wall. Nine wondered for a moment how they would make it to the other side, or why she didn't ride the bike further, until he spotted a crashed bus—covered in brick—that had managed to ram through the wall so that only half of it remained on this side. She removed the basket from the bike, cradling in it with both arms as if bearing some fragile treasure of immeasurable wealth.

Glass cracked under her feet as she entered the bus from the back doorway, sealing it shut behind her. He closed his eyes as they passed what remained of the deceased passengers and driver that had met their fate in the tragic crash: She was strangely unattached to their lifeless forms, though she may have come this way so many a time that the sight of the corpses held little beyond a brief moment's pity.

They exited the bus from the front in the same manner in which they entered and she carefully stepped upon the fallen bricks surrounding them—it took Nine a moment to realize she was using them as stepping stones to avoid leaving tracks—as she made her way away from the city without looking back.

But Nine did look back, if only to see what it was like to view the only world he knew blocked from another so distant from reach. Eventually, the bus, the wall, and the city would be little more than a blimp on the horizon.

He had left a note—albeit one of little description to his whereabouts—back in the First Room for Seven and the twins to find should they look for him. He hoped they weren't worried and that they would find it, and wished he had had the time to tell talk to them before coming on this journey outside the walls.

The earth suddenly sloped downward, dropping off into a somewhat shallow ravine. Here and there, a few abandoned lodgings dotted far apart one another across the landscape—none of which seemed hospitable as a shelter for any being. Other than the small, broken dwellings, scraps of metal, shards of glass, and other fragments of the fallen society littered the ground. Large pipes—poking from one face of the ravine and leading who knows where—dripped softly with filthy water which splattered in large puddles before them. It was almost a reflection of the city itself, just a tad more rural and had been less populated than the former had been.

Sarah turned in the direction of one house that Nine had missed in his initial sweep of the area. Nestled by crook of rocks, built more like a shack really, was a home with a roof that—partially hidden by detritus— stuck just above ground level, with cracked windows of lesser height. The idea of a shelter beneath the ground intrigued him, and he mentally applauded the discovery and use of it as a haven.

Momentarily setting the basket aside, she tore away metal sheets to reveal a short stairwell leading to the entrance. "Well," she whispered softly, a hand on the doorknob, "This is the place. Nine, I'd like you to meet my family." With that, the door was opened, creaking as it was slowly swung about and then gently shut once they were inside.

The basket was placed on a small table next to it and Nine shimmied over the lip as Sarah began to remove her mask, the container of air attached to it, and coat, depositing them on the floor. Neither human or Stitchpunk had completed their action when the trampling of little feet was heard rushing toward them. Nine dove behind the basket in reaction, only calmed soon after by the girl's kind grin to the newcomers.

A trio of humans—these even smaller than Sarah—appeared as they rounded the corner of a hall across the room. They appeared as such, following their size from greatest to smallest.

There was one that Nine identified as clearly male from the start, with a proud, boyish grin and a head full of dark, greasy hair; dressed in an overly large button-up shirt and a pair of overalls with a button torn off so that they sagged at his hips, lacking shoes of any sort; his brown eyes held a mix of exhaustion and wonder and his ears stood from the sides of his head almost like the doors of the broken down vehicles in the city.

The second of the little band was a soft featured human of raggedy, red locks and green eyes, clad in similar attire to the first only more worn and the button still intact. They seemed to fit this one even less so than the former, but the little human didn't seem discomforted by it if they were at all. He supposed this one was female as well as the next.

The last of them barely came up to Sarah's waist in height, but was practically a cloned version of her: the caramel hair more springy, bound in tight curls atop her head; no freckles, but that same starry gaze and rounded cheeks; little dimples in her smile and a tooth missing from the front; dressed the most girly of the lot—if such could be said—with a simplistic, pale blue gown that seemed more likely to be worn for lounging, just passing her knees in length, and a black cardigan sweater.

None of them seemed to notice Nine and he felt content with keeping it that way for the time being. So he remained within the shadows of the basket, allowing the four humans to talk and waiting for the one he had arrived with to introduce him.

"Sarah!" the male piped up before she could get a word out, "Guess what I did today! I got the water!"

Having been in the process of removing her boots, she looked up with a start, "What?! What have I told you?! You know better than to go out there, especially when I'm gone!"

To this, the boy cringed, his smile vanishing as his voiced softened, shrinking back. "I know… But you were gone so long and I just wanted to help. I knew you'd be back late and didn't want you going out for water in the dark."

"Help or no, I told you to always stay inside!" She folded her arms across her chest, positively fuming. This was a change of personality Nine had not been expecting. It reminded him a bit of One and that frightened him. But then he also saw the way she shook and knew she must be frightened too—for the lives of these others whose safety she put above her own. "Do you _want_ to be spotted?! Do you want to be taken away like everyone else?!"

"Don't worry," said a third voice; this one older, gentler, and wiser than the rest. And… also a little familiar. "I went out with him. I was watching for any sign of trouble and made sure he stayed within range of home." Nine risked being spotted, peering around intently for the origins of the voice. A soft tacking sound came with it, pounding against the wood.

At the sound of this, Sarah also looked about before her head peered down at the floor in front of her. Despite the mingling fear and anger in her eyes, a sad grin crept along the corners of her mouth. She was quiet, as if debating what to say next, but eventually sighed in resignation, "Thank you, Two, but you know I don't like any of them going outside: It's too dangerous out there."

"So you've told me," the voiced chuckled, "You remind me so much of someone I used to know, always keeping your little hens cooped up to keep them safe."

"So _you've_ told _me_," she smiled, returning a genuine giggle in turn of which the human boy shared until she said to him, "Don't: We're not done with this yet."

Nine finally spotted the being to which she spoke with, gazing down from the edge of the table to the floor below. Even with his knowledge prior, it still came as a great shock. It felt as if a large weight pressed upon his chest, ready to crush him. His mouth hung open speechlessly, the words refusing to come out as they had in a time that seemed like an eternity ago—when he first awoke.

"That reminds me, Two. You've got a visitor."

_((__**Author's Notes:**__ Ok, now I can elaborate a bit on the whole human survival thing. While the lack of humans in the movie was brilliant, there was one in particular contradiction with the information I gathered before starting this fanfic that was present in the movie that my sources have lacked: The rate of decay. Without the use of anything to preserve a body, it will decay faster than you think. The Scientist and the other corpses seen at the beginning of the movie are proof in themselves that they haven't been dead long simply because of the great condition that they're in. Well… considering they're dead. _

_Within a month's time, as revealed in the previous chapter, a corpse can blacken and bone can already begin to show. In the movie, where it showed The Scientist giving up the last of his soul to Nine, you can see how his body changes from the past and to the present, showing the first stages of decay. This leads me to deduce that Nine would've only been asleep for a few days rather than ten years as the wikia would state. _

_Also at the beginning of the movie, we heard that the war was still raging on as The Scientist was piecing together Nine. Therefore, the Great War was also recent. Since the machines supposedly won the war, it would've taken time for all of them to shut down without the Fabrication Machine to repair them: They wouldn't have all just died within a few day's—or even a week's—time. Those machines were built for war and clearly made to last, so it's more likely to assume that they wouldn't fall easily due to a low battery._

_We know there's nothing left in the city, but we don't know what lies beyond it. Therefore, the war could still be going on in other parts of the globe, meaning that neither the humans nor the machines are truly extinct. In this, I believe that humanity abandoned the city as it had already been lost and tried to retreat to safety somewhere else. With the Fabrication Machine down, the talisman lost, and the humans chased out, the machines had nothing they would've needed in the city and went in pursuit._

_There's no telling how long the Scientist was hiding there afterwards, or the other humans. Also, though the Cat Beast is small, those claws could easily tear a throat should it for even a second get the upper-hand in a fight with a human. The last of the humans in the city that we've seen were probably picked off either by the Cat Beast, due to poor air quality or some other health factor, or by other machines just prior to them leaving. _

_The reason why I believe there to be more than one Cat Beast is because I can't imagine the Fabrication Machine having made one hunter to find the talisman when it and The Scientist could've been anywhere on the planet. My theory is that more were made and sent out so that, while it would be rare to see another, it wouldn't be impossible. _

_Hope that clears some things up!)) _


	4. Chapter 4

For the longest while, all the two Stitchpunks could do was gape at one another in astonishment. The other humans' delight at a new friend—as well as Sarah's ushering to give the pair time to talk—fell on deaf ears, as the world around them seemed expelled in the jarring moment that they met eye to eye. Nine was the first to make a move, carefully sliding down one leg of the table to the floor below. Then all was still once more.

He took in Two's present condition: leaning on a large, rusty nail, the flat end bent and propped underneath one arm as a makeshift cane, for support; his legs oddly stitched back together with a tan, drugget fabric; new, mismatched feet built from random parts that didn't seem to function as they should nor look quite right. Yet in this broken figure before him—behind weary, bleak eyes—was the person who had sacrificed himself to protect someone he hadn't known and had only brought him trouble.

Slowly, Two lifted his free hand out towards Nine before quickly drawing it back, as if afraid he were only a manifestation induced by a long period of hopeless wishing that would vanish from sight the minute he drew near. However, tenaciously, he did approach with a limp, a numb gaze, and a hand resting on Nine's shoulder. His fingers wrapped firmly around it and gave a gentle shake as he shook his head, bewildered. The shake gradually became a bit more forceful, but still friendly, while a wide smile split across the elder's face with an eruption of amazed laughter sounding passing his lips.

The nail clattered to the aged, wooden floor as Two wrapped his arms around Nine in an affectionate embrace, sobbing as only a Stitchpunk could. Nine tensed in his hold, the action catching him off-guard after the rebuking he had expected to come. Here stood Two, without malice or resentment toward him and, most importantly, _alive_. Beaming with joy, he returned the hug.

"I didn't think I would see anyone again," Two said as they drew away from one another, still in shock but of a merry kind.

"The feeling's mutual," chortled Nine with a soft grin.

_Boom!_ Dust rattled from the ceiling above and they all froze in fright. A few seconds later, the same crashing noise returned, spewing more dust from above and gaining in volume. "Curfew…" gasped the smallest human.

"Everyone, to the hall, now!" whispered Sarah in fearful haste. Two and Nine were swiftly scooped up into the hands of the other two girls as the boy rushed to put out the candle that had been the sole source of light in the sparse and haunting abode. As one, the girls ran for the hall with as quiet a tread as could be made—the boy was tugged along and shoved behind by Sarah as he neared. All ducked far back into the shadows of the hall: Sarah remained in the front, back pressed against one wall as she kept sight of the windows—small and near the ceiling as they were, there were many—and what lied beyond a simple sheet of damaged glass.

Two and Nine mildly wrestled themselves free so to stand on their own feet—though Two needed to lean his weight against one human's leg to keep upright. Nine paid no heed to which one as he watched as well to see what mechanical monsters continued to terrorize the living.

He needn't wait long. A horror he had only seen as dead shells in the streets or projections shown by Three and Four appeared. First it was a blinding, white light—streaming through the windows from the left side as the loud pounding against the earth became almost deafening. The air went still, save for the shrill creaking of metal just outside as the light swept from side to side—vanishing and returning, moving back and forth in a motion that never seemed to cease. And as the light would dim, he could just make out through one window a huge, metal foot that could belong to nothing else but a Steel Behemoth.

A second light appeared just parallel to the first. There were two of them out there: Waiting, searching, hunting to eradicate the last of mankind. The small girls huddled together, hiding their faces in one another's arms. The boy held back in a crouch, as if ready to flee deeper into the recesses of the building should it come to that—as if that would do any good should they be spotted. Sarah kept taut and gazed out at the nightmares they were made forced to live through every day, muscles tense and eyes wide alert for any sign that their days of hiding were coming to a swift and horrid end.

Then she suddenly cringed, her gaze snapped in the direction of the basket still sitting on the table where it had been forgotten in their urgency. "Go back," she breathed in such a soft voice that the words could only be read on her lips and in her gesture motioning them deeper in. They scooted away, but only by a few feet—watching in fright as she made the first step to collect what had been left behind, keeping her head down and eyes always on the windows and her fingers curling and uncurling with trembling impatience.

Two couldn't stop Nine from following and only stood rigid with fright as the younger Stitchpunk left his side. Deep inside, Nine knew he wouldn't be able to do a thing if she was caught, but all the while he couldn't find it in himself to let her venture back alone.

The lights left range of the windows and it seemed that the machines were now satisfied with their search, for they began to leave the area—hinted by their dreadful, ominous stomps. Taking that as a cue, Sarah—hunched over and skirting the wall that was most shadowed—scampered for the basket. Nine ran to keep up, receiving a worried, yet thankful, grin from her.

Suddenly, a third light swept across the room along with a third set of steps to match it. Someone back in the hall—Nine didn't look back to see who—let out a panicked, whisper of a shriek before clamping their hands over their mouth. Sarah practically dove behind a badly damaged and dulled wing back chair that sat next to an oak haberdashery cabinet; in its moderate allowance of cover, she made herself as small as could be. Nine slid under the chair itself, bunkering by the edge.

The third harsh bloom of illumination—this ironic thing of such brightness that was usually so welcomed in times of immense gloom—lingered as if it were aware of their presence and merely waiting for a single slip up: a split second of motion, a hand or a foot not hidden well enough in the shadows, the glistening of eyes in the dark. Like a feline waiting for its intended prey as it sat trapped in the nest it had built for itself and debated the risk of retreat.

Time dragged on until it too went away. In a flash, Sarah darted for the basket and cradled it to her chest as she made way back to the shrouded hall and her relieved fellows. Nine dashed for Two's nail and took it in hand without stopping as he spun back their way.

This was the stuff of nightmares, known only in the marks of history left behind by man. Yet here, beyond the walls of the city and to these few survivors, it was still very much a cruel reality.

* * *

><p>Other than the hallway, there was but one other room in the building that had no windows—not to say that there were many rooms at all, as it was a very small, cozy abode, or had been before the Great War. The four humans had made use of it as their place of resting, with two mattresses in poor shape spread out on the floor and covered in a messy pile of ripped pillows and fringed blankets. It was assumed that one mattress was taken from the actual bedroom as the bedframe there was discovered to be absent of one, but the where they had found the other and how they managed to bring it inside—as small as they were in comparison—remained a mystery that would likely never be solved.<p>

In this room also sat a pail of murky water, nearly filled to the brim, and an empty pail alongside it with a large towel draped over it. Nine assisted Two as they entered, following the humans' path as they moved about with near systematic silence: The boy lit a brass oil lantern, Sarah rummaged through the basket for the can of spam and a box of crackers, the red-headed girl set to finding a knife as the smallest squirmed her way over to Sarah to grasp her arm in a tight embrace. "It was getting dark," she murmured with wet eyes, "We thought the monsters got you."

"Rosie…" The sort of tender smile Nine had often watched Seven give to the twins appeared on Sarah's face as she ran her fingers through the other's tangled locks. "I'm smart, remember? I know how to survive: You didn't have anything to worry about."

Behind her, the boy cringed and a hurt, angry scowl set upon his features, "So what then?" he snapped, despite his whisper, "We're just not as smart as you? You don't trust us to handle ourselves out there so you keep us locked up in here while you pretend you're mom? Is that it?!"

Through the sharp glare, pain was evident in the gaze that landed upon him, "That's not what I mean, Peter. It's just—"

"I know what you mean…" he turned his back to her, unwilling to meet her stare with his own. "But we're not useless: _I'm_ not useless… It just isn't fair…"

Nothing more was said after that and for a while—after the meager meal had been divided and devoured amongst the four—all that could be heard was the sloshing of water from one pail to the next as they repeated the process of Rosie and Peggy holding the towel in place over the empty one while Sarah carefully dumped the water on the cloth so that the obvious filth and grime would collect atop it. Outside, the stomps of the Behemoths would disappear and reappear. Sometimes the humans would freeze: Sometimes they didn't bother and acted as if the machines never existed. Yet all the while, all the joy and charm that had beheld them upon Sarah's return had gone away, replaced by sad eyes of mourning and despair—so powerful was the effect of curfew and the dangers that lurked in it.

As the humans drank from a shared cup and washed themselves with the soap Sarah had found and what remained of the water after their thirst was quenched, Nine and Two returned to the hallway on their own. It was too awkward to stand anymore—being in the same room as the humans after the brief argument—and they had much to discuss with one another.

"Two," Nine addressed once they were far enough away not to be overheard, yet still within eyesight. He felt he might as well inquire what was on his mind foremost, as it was not so much a tenuous wonder. "How are you here? I saw your spirit—you and others… You died. How did you come back?"

The elder shrugged, casting him the tiniest of grins, "If you want the truth, I'm not so sure myself. It was during the rains. I awoke and found myself lying on a slab of sorts, everything—even my joints—soaked through, my sight in poor shape, my mind foggy, and my legs missing. I didn't understand where I was, what had happened, or how I got there." To this, Nine tensed, but if Two noticed he didn't show it. "And—as you can imagine—I was very frightened.

"I must have been quite the spectacle, if I recall correctly," he chuckled, "I was in such a panic all I could really do was scream, and I only panicked more when someone picked me up." Overlapping his arms atop the curve of the nail, he a single nod toward the humans. "Apparently, I had drifted close enough that they were able to find me.

"Then, with my instructions, they did the best they could to put me back together. My sight's much better now—I have more focus—but they could only do so much for my legs with what I could tell them to do and out of the things they could find. They're clever though." He shifted his footing a bit to better balance himself. "Still," he voiced even more softly, "If you wouldn't mind, do you think you could help finish some of the repairs. My joints are even worse than I remember than being—not that I would let them know that: they did the best they could."

Nine nodded. He hadn't had much experience in such things, but he knew what to do well enough. The miracle of Two's return and reconstruction having been made, the challenge of redoing a few amateur-fashioned parts paled in comparison. Once he had the right components, he was sure he would be able help Two.

Two grinned, dipping his head as a gesture of thanks, before continuing his story. "Like the humans during the war, they had no idea who or what I was—what we are. Well, if One were here, he'd call me a fool for doing so, but I told them everything—and yes, even about was happened at the factory, or at least as much as I know which isn't actually much, all things considering. They took me in, so how could I _not_ tell them? Besides that," and then he truly smiled, "I gained a bit of insight as well."

"Insight?" Nine tilted his head in confusion and the stitching above his optics furrowed.

"Just a theory of theirs," he said simply, looking back fondly at the lot as they prepared to settle for the night, Sarah tucking the other two girls into bed along each side of her while Peter took the smaller of the mattresses for his own. "They thought and thought about it, and then one day they told me of an idea of theirs that the body was separate from the soul."

"What do you mean?" The more Two tried to explain, the more confused Nine felt.

"We dream, don't we?" Nine nodded in reply. "And we feel without touch and speak without saying words. Even when our bodies are broken behind repair, our souls live on. They told me that even some of their kind had claimed to have out-of-body experiences, and so they asked, 'How is this any different?' You didn't know Six long, but he seemed to fall into the sort of trances they described.

"Our bodies are like fragile shells, containing our souls. A body could live without a soul for a little while, but without, it's just a shell that can't care for itself. If they're well cared for, the soul remains a part of it. If they break, the soul is released. Because our bodies remained intact—well… mostly—we must have been able to return to them once our souls were set free." Two shook his head in wonder, his gaze never leaving the four. "The mind of a child is absolutely remarkable. They can fathom answers so easily that we never can imagine."

"What's a child?"

Two blinked in surprise for a moment before he seemed to remember that Nine was still fairly new to the world. "Humans aren't born like we are: They go through a cycle of life. Childhood is one of their youngest stages." For a moment as he watched them, he seemed almost reminiscent. "When it was just One and I, we saw many children. They always had this gleam in their eyes, like Three and Four—like you—so new and curious to everything." Suddenly he seemed as though a great weight rested upon him and the grin faded into something of despair. "We also saw…. many children die at the hands of the machines…"

Nine placed a hand on his friend's shoulder consolingly and when it wasn't brushed away gripped it tighter in a sympathetic caress. In that stare, so caught up in the morbid past, he could almost see a replay of the macabre that had occurred. "I don't think the same will happen to them," he tried to reassure the elder. "They look like they know what they're doing."

Two nodded in agreement, but didn't look up, "They must've been like this for a while."

He tried to stray the topic elsewhere, "Sarah said this was her family. Is that like what you and the others were?"

"Yes, and from what they've told me, they're siblings. Though I don't know what happened to their parents." Nine didn't know what parents were either, but didn't ask. Besides, he had a feeling that whatever parents were, the machines had already gotten to them. Two probably knew that as well.

"I'm worried about them," Two admitted, "Children shouldn't have to grow up like this. They shouldn't—"

He suddenly stopped in midsentence, optics abruptly possessing an empty look and mouth agape. As the cane began to slip from the limp Stitchpunk's hold, Nine dove to catch him, panic overwhelming him. The latter was about to shout for help when as quickly as the frightful experience occurred, it passed. Two blinked up at him lazily, shaking his head as if to clear it.

"Wha-What happened?" he asked, struggling to stand once more, "What were we talking about?"

Nine didn't know how to react until something slipped back into memory. Sarah had mentioned something about Two having memory loss when they had first met. He wondered how it was possible, but figured whatever the Fabrication Machine had done to them had caused damage to his mind. Thankfully, it was only short-term, just as she had said, but he hoped he could find a way to fix that as well when the time was right.

Now, however, was not the time. The children were asleep—or trying to, as the sounds of the machines still ravaged outside—and Nine himself felt like they could all use a good rest. A lot had been taken in today, and who knew what would await come morning.


	5. Chapter 5

_((__**Review Replies:**_

_**Aganos:**__ Thanks! I just thought it seemed to be the most logical reason behind the evidence seen in the movie and in the event that a sequel had been made. Of course, what happened to the machines and humans for none to appear near the city is only theory, but it seemed the more likely for the city to wind up like Chernobyl in that both the machines and humanity have abandoned it and for the machines to ensure their survival by enslaving humans than for everything to have been wiped off of the face of the earth in what would be a short span of time.)) _

He tried to rest, he really did, but he just couldn't.

It wasn't the machines still roaming about above them that kept him awake. Eventually many had abandoned the area—only now and then, perhaps at the beginning of one hour or the next, would one return. They were safe and he knew that simply because the children had fallen into a fitful slumber and he trusted their intuitive in the matter more than his own. No, he was restless from thought.

He found himself wandering back into the first room they had entered, exploring the haberdashery cabinet with a renewed interest that had been lost during all of the panic. It was taxing, but he managed to pull himself up level after level, hopping to grasp one handle of each drawer above the next until he finally reached a shelf. Dust covered its scratched-up surface like a coat of paint, rolling about his feet when he disturbed it. However, though the shelf had seen better days, the items it withheld remained in fair shape. And what oddities there were—enough to have kept himself busy for a great deal of time and still perhaps never truly understand the secrets behind such relics.

Little people made of porcelain—most all of them young women dressed in flouncy, fancy gowns from days long past—took the majority of space on the shelf, turned to face one another as if in some social gathering. How pretty they were, but cold—very cold and hard, and yet so delicate. And the details were exquisite: perfect in every crimp in a dress to every curl in a lock of hair. Most of all though, they were beautiful in a way he had never seen mankind represented as: Happy. Their poses were paused in play, without bone poking from beneath the skin due to slow starvation; their eyes were aglow with merry contentment, without dark traces beneath them, from fearful, restless nights; lips were curled in gentle smiles as if these figures of stone knew nothing of the vile world outside.

One drew his attention above all others. A lady—her ashen brown locks pulled in a taut bun atop her head—stood poised and proud atop one foot on her toes, with the other leg swung back high into the air at a near-perfect one hundred and eighty degree angle. Her hand was extended outwards, as if longing for a partner in her eternal dance. Nine took it into his own with an intrigued sort of grin and tried to mimic her stance, only to fall forward and nearly tip the figurine over. He quickly caught it and himself before either of them could fall.

He chuckled in spite of himself: How ridiculous he must've appeared.

Something else beckoned him—a box not unlike the one that bore the message from The Scientist back in the first room. This box, however, was decorated in a multitude of intricate designs made from a golden-painted metal that made the outer frame, layering over the light wood. On its side was a gear of sorts, which he turned in fascination until he could do so no more.

Nothing happened.

Odd. There must've been some way to get the box to work; who knew what sort of message from the past it contained. Examining it further, he found no lid to unlatch—at least not one that he could open manually; there was a small lid in the center, but when he stretched himself across to flip it open, it hadn't budged. However, there was also a slide protruding from one side of the box, with thin beams meant to catch it from shifting out of place. He walked along its perimeter, pressed his hand against the slide, and moved it across until he heard an audible snap.

Nine startled back with a small cry of surprise when a tiny figure sprung up immeadiately after. It was also made of metal, but painted in dark shades of mingling blues and greens. It looked like the Winged Beast that had attacked him and his friends at their sanctuary, only it was… pretty—more natural, he felt. The beak was smaller, as were the wings, and when he gazed upon it a strange sense of hope similar to the rising of the dawn swelled within. Back and forth, side to side, it twisted in place: Delicate wings flapped about as a series of merry little chirps burst from the figure in song.

He sat with his hands against his knees as he watched it tweet its little tune and thought it the loveliest sound he had ever heard. But what was it? Were there more of these things and where were they now? Certainly not in the ruins of the city. Maybe they weren't native here: Maybe they had gone extinct. He knew so very little, but he wanted to know, especially if it meant exploring such treasures of the past.

When the mechanical creature's song came to an end and the lid sealed shut on its own, he repeated the process until it sang once more.

Two would love seeing this if he hadn't discovered it already: Five _would've_ loved this were he still around. He made a sad grin at the fond reminiscence of his friend. He was glad he had found Two at least, but… He sighed. He missed the others so much—even One. Despite how cowardly and wretched a dictator he had been, he had redeemed himself in the end by making the ultimate sacrifice. Nine would've given anything to get them back and truly fix all the damage he had done, but he knew better than to ask for another miracle.

Still—and his face lit up with hope at the thought—if Two was still ok, if two had awoken on his own accord after the rains, who was to say that the others hadn't as well?

Yes… Yes! Maybe they were ok: Maybe they were just lost! If they were still alive, they surely would've tried to find their way home. However, what if they had befallen the same fate as Two where they couldn't make it back safely? What if they were still out there and needed help? What if… What if…

Nothing but a bunch of 'ifs' and 'maybes,' but could he really sit around and do nothing if there was a chance—no matter how miniscule?

He had to try.

A soft groan and the sound of shuffling feet came from behind. Nine peered over his shoulder to see Sarah standing on the other end of the living room, wiping her eyes free from sleep. She blinked wearily a few times, stepping closer as she squinted at him. "Nine?" she whispered, "What are you doing up?" She yawned dreamily. "We gotta get up early tomorrow when…" she paused and cast her gaze downward at her feet, "when I bring you and Two back to the city."

It was the wisest course of action. Once the other children had fallen asleep, Sarah had been the one to propose that when she brought Nine back to the city, Two should come along. _"I don't want to split up a family_," she had said with a mild grin, yet the pain had been evident in her voice. It was as clear as day to him that Two had also become an important member of _their_ family. They had gotten to know him longer than Nine had, but then Three, Four, and Seven had even longer—and missed him just as much. His companions had already made their haven in the library, but the only form of shelter of any certainty for these humans was right here.

More than that: They also needed to find replacement parts for Two. The Scientist must have had spares for them or something in the first room, or even if he didn't they had a better chance of finding some in the city.

The area began to get brighter and Sarah instinctively shrank back into the shadows of the hall, even though the light shown somewhere a little farther off from their home.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he, Two, and the humans would say goodbye. He couldn't find it in himself to want to—they needed help. As the elder Stitchpunk had described, four children surviving on their own was a miracle in itself; who knew how much longer they would last under they were found, and either captured or killed by the machines. The latter seemed the most likely: What use were they if they were too young for whatever sort of labor their oppressors had in mind? Saying goodbye seemed all too final.

What sort of feeling was this? To want to protect total strangers, who some would accuse as the reason for the ruination of the world? Perhaps it was similar to his urge to protect his friends, but this felt somewhat more potent.

He looked at the girl's face: So frightened, so young, so new… The feeling only seemed to strengthen.

"Sarah," he inquired, pushing himself up to stand, "If it would be alright with you, do you think you could help Two and I tomorrow?"

"What?" Her eyes snapped from the windows and back to him. The room slowly began to darken once more. "What do you mean?"

"Two told you all about what happened…" he pondered for a moment, trying to find the right words, "What happened with the Talisman and the machines. There used to be more of us: Five of us, including Two, died. But since Two's back, I figured, maybe…" He looked away and shrugged, rubbing one arm nervously. What was he thinking? Asking a child for help when she had enough problems on her own? It was too risky as it was and he doubted his ability to protect—considering he failed to protect so many others. It was stupid: It was selfish.

"You think they're still alive…" she finished for him, to which he nodded in turn.

"I _hope_ they're still alive," he corrected, "I want to believe that they're still alive." He forced himself to look into her eyes, despite his shame. "It's not safe, so maybe you shouldn't, but… I think it would be easier if you could help us. You can see and do things we can't." There was the matter of the canyon Six had fallen in, for instance. It was deep for anyone, but much less so for a human. And from her height, it would be easier to spot their missing companions.

She fell silent for a long time, as if considering the appropriate responses. When the wait became too great, Nine opened his mouth to reclaim his request and apologize only to be swiftly cut off by her own voice, "Ok…"

He blinked, a little stunned. "A-Are you sure?"

"You need my help," she smiled gently, "My mama used to tell me never to turn down a friend in need. 'Always do what you can to help the people you care about,' she said, 'because you never knew when you made need their help someday too and that's what friend's do for each other.'"

He grinned. Two seemed to follow that same philosophy. For both friends _and_ strangers. He doubted though that if he were awake he would've allowed Sarah to agree.

"Besides," she continued, "It's been a while since I've really explored the city. Today was the farthest I've been in forever: I want to see more, but I never get the chance because of curfew. I think there used to be a toy store somewhere downtown, but I was very little."

"We'll watch your back," he assured her. It was the least they could do and maybe the machines wouldn't show up. If they hadn't been near the city long enough for the other Stitchpunks to think they had wiped themselves out, maybe they wouldn't appear in the city at all—or at least not that far in.

For the first time since they had arrived at her home, the child's eyes gleamed with excitement.

Next would come the hard part: Convincing Two to let her tag along on their quest. All things considering though, it didn't look like an argument the elder was going to win.


	6. Chapter 6

"Sarah, why haven't you stopped yet? Nine and I will be fine, but it's too dangerous for you to be this deep into the city; you won't be able to make it back home in time for curfew," Two had said unknowingly for the second time that day after one of his lapses.

Nine had made a small, sympathetic chuckle for his companion before explaining their plan to him once again. And again, the very same argument ensued in regards to her safety. "The machines haven't been searching this far in, not yet, and we can both watch out for her," he repeated, placing a hand on Two's shoulder, "Then when we meet with the others, we'll have eyes on everything. Nothing will be able to get near us without us knowing it ahead of time. Twenty eyes are a lot better than two."

The elder sighed, scratched the back of his head, and looked away for a moment before nodding in agreement. "Nineteen, in Five's case," he mildly joked with a sad grin. It was too early to assume anything—who was alive and who wasn't—yet; they both knew that. But the very thought of their possible survival helped to ease the ache of their loss.

Shafts of light tore through the oppressing shroud of clouds above, and every so often they would catch the faintest glimpse of the high noon sun. The light reflecting off of the bricks and the bronze and rusted metals cast a sort of golden hue across the expanse of the Emptiness. It was an eerie sort of beauty, and instead of speaking of tragic endings it seemed to whisper of beginnings yet to come.

Light, sweet, and carefree, Sarah began to twitter a little tune behind her mask.

"_Oh we ain't gotta barrel of money,_

_Maybe we're ragged and funny,_

_But we'll travel along,_

_Singin' a song,_

_Side by side."_

Neither felt that she had meant it in any way about the situation at end, but they looked up and down at one another's forms and then their own. The pair of Stitchpunks couldn't help but laugh, in spite of themselves. Made of worn cloth dirtied with dust, they supposed they did look a little ragged and funny. And though Sarah and her siblings managed to cleanse themselves on special, rare occasions, it wasn't long after that they were filthy again. Indeed, they were all poor beings thrust into a savage, apocalyptic age.

"_Don't know what's comin' tomorrow,_

_Maybe it's trouble and sorrow,_

_But we'll travel the road,_

_Sharin' our load,_

_Side by side."_

Yet despite the anguish, they could be merry. They could pick themselves off the ground, brush away the dust, and move on after their troubles.

"_Through all kinds of weather,_

_What if the sky should fall,_

_Just as long as we're together,_

_It doesn't matter all…_

_Though they've all had their quarrels and parted,_

_We'll be the same as we started,_

_Just travellin' along,_

_Singin' our song,_

_Side by side."_

Her voice wasn't like the woman's who sang about rainbows, but it was pretty enough—the mask probably didn't help—and they clapped anyway. They asked if she would sing it again so they could learn it themselves and so she did. The song was easy, bouncy, jovial. None of them were virtuosos, but it helped to take their minds off things and lift their spirits.

Nine wondered if there would be more moments like this, and if so, how many? It seemed that the machines would never truly leave and that the world would never return to its former state of grace and beauty. Any day now, the machines from outside the walls could scour the city anew for survivors and their haven could be turned into a cage of which there was no escape. But still, it was nice to breathe for a change without the constant need of looking over ones shoulder for signs of danger.

They took the long way to The Scientist's old home not for the sake of scenery, but because it was the only clear path that could be travelled by bike. Normally, Sarah would've parked it somewhere as she had many times before in similar situations. However, they weren't certain how far they would have to travel or whether or not they would need it. It was already well into the afternoon by the time they reached the building. The human child ascended the steps carefully, a Stitchpunk riding on each shoulder.

Entering the first room, Nine slid down a long strip of cloth while Sarah lifted Two in her palm, removed his cane from her pocket, and placed him with it gently on the floor. Two gave a nod of thanks before turning to look at the room. "It's been a while…" he mused quietly, "A long while…"

Upon spotting the disintegrating remains of The Scientist, he let out a sharp gasp and hobbled over to where he lay. Nine and Sarah watched in silence as he placed a careful hand upon the corpse's skull, his fingers tracing the path of The Scientist's brow and cheekbones without the hand sinking through flesh. They bowed their heads; they owed that much to the deceased, who both Nine and Sarah had realized with shame had never giving much attention to. It took Two's mourning for them to see that. "I knew this would happen someday…" their elder voiced sadly, "But I didn't expect to be around to see this… From the short time I stayed here, he was always pushing himself to his limits. I knew even when I awoke that the beasts wouldn't be the ones to end him: That he would die because he always put his health at risk for the sake of his work—for our sakes." His didn't say more, but continued to stare at the body. It was a small eulogy, but there wasn't much of one that they could offer.

All of a sudden, Sarah retreated back the way they had come. She returned a short while later with a large, torn curtain draped over her arms. Both Stitchpunks looked at her curiously as she approached Two and The Scientist, spreading the curtain out on the floor alongside them. "What are you doing?" Two asked with a raised brow.

"I'm going to bury him," was her only reply, her voice level despite the way her hands shook.

With a pained expression on his face, he reached up as if to try and stop her. "Don't—"

"He deserves it," she interrupted as she finished splaying out the curtain, "and I'm the only one here who can do it. He can't be that heavy." He wouldn't—not with having wasted away so much. Two stepped back as she moved around the body to squat down on the other side. Placing one gloved hand on The Scientist's waist and another to cradle his skull she began to roll him over onto the curtain.

She could contain the wince of disgust that slipped past her lips; the rot was worse underneath him and parts of his skin seemed to cling to the floor before limply snapping away from it as he was moved. The smell of decay only intensified and she forced herself not to gag as the stench assaulted her.

Soon enough, he was lying face up, staring and the ceiling with her arms folded over his chest. With a sort of practice in her manner, Sarah wrapped the curtain around his form and hefted him into her arms with a grunt of effort. He looked so small, The Scientist—the giver of life who had once tenderly held each of his creation's in the palm of his aged hand. Without further words, she retreated from the room and around the corner of the hall.

Nine went over and gave his friend a pat on the back in an effort to help console him. Yet still, Two just stared at his feet, shaking his head. "She's just a little girl…" he whispered to himself, "It's not right… It isn't…"

Nine was beginning to understand more about children and what Two meant. He noticed that they had a strange sort of innocence to them—an innocence that this world was destroying a little more every waking hour, an innocence that Sarah had all but lost as she fought to keep it alive in her siblings. Children were meant to grow merry and carefree—like the natures of 3 and 4—not deprived of all happiness as they struggled for survival in a world that had put them at such a disadvantage and taken everything from them before they even knew what they had. Sarah took the hard tasks, the adult tasks, so others wouldn't have to, but the more she did only stripped away, piece by piece, parts of her own humanity. To grow without hope or joy was to grow with a heart dark, scarred, and empty.

He supposed Two needed some sort of distraction, for the elder left his side and began picking up the scattered papers about the floor—examining them closely and, if he thought them useful, rolling and tucking them underneath his arm. He cast Nine a sad smile over his shoulder. "I think we can handle the repairs for the others just fine, but we still have no idea what sort of condition they're in and having their schematics won't hurt." With that, he positioned one paper in Nine's line of vision to show him the plan for the latter's design.

He nodded in turn. "I'll start looking for parts."

Crawling over papers, shelves, and spilled equipment, he thoroughly searched through the mess for anything of use. For a long awhile, there was nothing to be found; He was still looking even when Sarah returned from her grisly chore—her clothes smeared with dirt and sickly muck of unmentionable description—and began to help in the search on the other side of the room. The progress was painfully slow, but eventually he found something that caught his interest.

Not far from the desk that bore the device that transferred The Scientist's soul into the Stitchpunks, a jewelry box sat high upon the topmost level of a nearby bookshelf. His optics shrank and his brows furrowed—his way of "squinting"—as he read the label pasted to its side: _Spares._

"Sarah, can you give me a boost?" he addressed the girl. She nodded, cupped her hands upon the floor so that he could crawl into them, and carried him in the direction he guided her in. Hopping from her hold with a twinge of excitement similar to a child's on Christmas Day, he rushed to flip open the box's lid and hefted himself over the edge to where he leaned into it from the waist up.

And he burst out laughing in relief! A random mixture of parts filled the box almost to the brim. Some were finished: Some were not. Many of them were complete hands, feet, and eyes, but there were also parts for their skeletal frames.—everything of all shapes and sizes. And not only that, but folded and tacked to the inner lid of the box were blueprints for how to create the parts. It would be another hunt to find which parts what would best fit Two, but he was relieved to know that The Scientist hadn't forsaken them with only a message to help them survive. He had already prepared for them for when they needed help.

Two requested Sarah's help as well to join Nine and see what the matter was. Upon the discovery, he fell into a similar state of delight. "This is smashing!" he cheered, setting his cane aside to reach in and pick up an optic. It was obvious he was thinking of Five. "Smashing!" he repeated with an elated chuckle.

Sarah looked around for a moment herself; Spying a pair of scissors not very far away, sitting next to a stack of other instruments, she held them up and offered, "Do you need help?"

The laughter died in Two's throat and he smiled nervously at her. "If you could find some more cloth, that would be excellent; just don't leave the building."

"I won't," she groaned, and departed once more from the room after placing the scissors back where she has found them.

Nine tilted his head at Two for a moment. Getting down on his knees to peer at the shelf below them, he saw neatly folded scraps of vinyl, corduroy, and burlap. His gaze returned to Two in silent question.

"She doesn't know what she's doing," he reminded him. Then, moving so Nine could get a good look at the crudely jagged cut cloth and stitching at his side, he continued, "And she's not safe with scissors either." They both shared a good laugh at that.

Nine pulled over a wooden spool of black thread for Two to sit on, still cradling the optic in his hands. He examined the elder and found for the first time that the cloth the children had used, while durable, was also a little too stiff. That and nothing had been used for any sort of padding protecting his frame.

Nine left briefly for the stack of equipment and returned with a seam ripper and needle. "Let's see what we can do."


	7. Chapter 7

By the time Nine had completed Two's repairs—and Sarah had learned she had been sent out on a fool's errand—dusk had already begun to settle upon the horizon. The ruins of the great city cast vast shadows against the sands, the jagged remains of buildings seeming even more frightful than usual—like the jaws of some great monstrosity. Sarah had placed the box of spares and squares of folded cloth in her basket, with the pair of Stitchpunks keeping it balanced in between them as the rode through the darkening streets.

Two seemed revitalized after the repairs. He stood a little straighter and moved a little easier than he had before—even from the time Nine had first met him, though he still required his cane. The legs had been an easy enough fix with Two's guidance and the instructions left behind by The Scientist. They were better than new, stitched together with vinyl and similar to his old ones all save for the lack of patches and that large line sewn across his abdomen, mostly hidden under the shoe leather. His feet had also been replaced with newer versions of the pair he had upon their first meeting.

Repairing the damage done to his mind had been the greater of the two struggles. The progress had been painstakingly slow from the moment he had removed the metal patch covering the back Two's head to see what could be done for his memory, and any false move could've just made things worse. With time and surgical precision—checking and double-checking to make sure he followed The Scientist's blueprints to the letter—he had done what he could to fix the destruction caused by The Fabrication Machine when it had mutilated his form for its twisted goals. He could only hope it had helped to at least a small degree.

He was eager to find the others, but with a gentle shake of his shoulder, Two had reminded him of the complexity of their situation. "She's getting nervous," he whispered, nodding in Sarah's direction, "and it's getting late. If it were just the two of us, we would be alright, but let's not take any unnecessary risks. We can always look tomorrow morning. Besides," and his eyes twinkled with excitement, "I'm anxious to see Three, Four, and Seven again. Not to mention that they're probably worried sick about you too."

He inwardly winced. As of now, nearly two days had passed without so much as a word between them other than the note he had left for them to find. Seven was probably furious. No matter the reason, it was wrong of him not to let them know that he was alright. He pointed Sarah in the direction of the library, their course changing in almost the complete opposite direction from where they had been headed.

Before they had left the other children earlier that day, Sarah had made certain that they would have enough food and supplies to last until she returned. Collecting a good few buckets of water to set aside in one of the spare rooms and planning out how to divide the food per person each day that she was absent. They usually had a little extra that they would save for worst case scenarios, but she wanted to be certain nonetheless that their welfare was ensured. None of them were to leave the house for any reason and Peter had been put in charge while she was away. Still, one couldn't help but worry. She had never been apart from them for so long, as she had told the Stitchpunks, except for during summer camps when she had been so young she could hardly remember most of them.

They heard a distant, metallic clicking before suddenly she snapped the bike to abrupt halt and both Two and Nine lurched forward in the basket, along with its other contents, to smack against the side. The Stitchpunks held on tight as she spun about and began to steer through the narrow alley of a clump of ruined two to three-story buildings at a breakneck pace.

"What's going on?!" cried Nine.

Sarah shushed him—though it sounded more like a hiss due to the mask—and continued to peddle. He and Two shared a worried look before she skid the bike to a stop once more, hopped off, and took the pair into her arms as she rushed into the nearest building and quickly shut the door behind her. Then she made her way to the highest floor, closing off all other entryways to them.

Shafts of light poured down from above from a large hole in the rooftop, and a similar hole was smashed through the floor—both were due to the broken wing of a plane having torn through the dwelling during the war. Like the Scientist's home, the floor creaked badly beneath her tread, but worse was that the floor seemed to faintly give way upon away pressure. Still, however dangerous, she made her way across until they were safely locked in what appeared to be a sort of study.

"What is it, Sarah?" Nine repeated, squirming in her hold.

"Scavengers…" she replied, her voice nearly a whisper. Striding over to the sole window in the study, she ripped apart a single plank of wood to get a better view. She placed them both on the sill and all three of them gazed down below.

A trio of mechanical beasts moved into their sights. They looked similar to giant pill bugs—each just over a meter in height, but the beyond their ability to curl around themselves in a ball the similarities stopped there. Hard, armored plates replaced an exoskeleton shell. There were four sharp legs on which they scurried across the ground, and two arms with shovel-like hands with two prongs that made the fingers. When they stopped and uncurled themselves to move about on their legs—metal joints snapping with disturbing clacks and rattles—one could see their sole red eyes and the gated "stomachs."

"What are they?" Two asked, shaking his head. His eyes were a mix of fear and curiosity.

"Just what they're called: Scavengers," she repeated. "My parents told me that they were built to search for anything useful in the ruins of the war and bring them back to the Fabrication Machine to create more monsters. They're more clumsy than dangerous, but they can be very deadly in groups. And when they curl up, they're incredibly fast and their armor is almost impenetrable. Even if they weren't designed to kill, it doesn't mean they won't."

"What do they look for?" Nine gulped.

"Usually metals," she shrugged, "but I've seen them collect bones too, and some other random things. Some used to look around our home—they made it impossible to leave to look for food, but that was a long time ago. I thought they had moved on like the other machines."

"Do you think the fires might've brought them back?"

"It's possible that they thought the same thing I did. People—dead or alive—mean more things for them to find."

About that time, two of the Scavengers discovered the corpse of a young man amid the debris. Straightening to stand at their full height, they dug their fingers into his decayed flesh and began to tug in opposite directions. Rotted bits of skin splattered on the ground as they tore the body part, until with a sickening squish, it was yanked in half—parts of the spine and rib cage clattering on the sodden earth in the process. The Scavengers began to pick at the remains, collecting the bones and storing them within themselves from the automatic door at their abdomens.

For the world she had grown up in and all she had witnessed in it, Sarah still had to clamp a hand over the mouth of the mask and gagged, forcing the bile back down her throat. She moved away from the window and leaned back against the wall, quivering, before sliding to the floor.

Though Two handled it better, an expression of pain and disgust washed over his features. Clasping a nearby curtain, he carefully slid himself down and hobbled over to Sarah to comfort her—and possibly relieve himself of the grotesque sight as well.

But Nine continued to watch—even though it was horrifying. He forced himself to if only to know these strange, new monstrosities or tell when they left so they could continue safely on their way.

He watched as the third one gazed to the tracks left in the dusty soil by the bike and followed their trail down the alley. "They've found us," he warned the others. "What do we do?"

"It's pointless to try to fight them. We have to run!" Sarah exclaimed as she stood up, gathering Two and Nine into her arms once again.

As they raced from the study back into the main hall, they found that they were all too late. A scarlet light radiated from the stairwell and the Scavenger scurried toward them, its legs digging into the wood and scattering splitters into the air. It hissed at the sight of them, its eye brightening to an even more deadly shade of red. Sarah gasped and began to retreat back the way she came, looking around for any means of escape.

There was none.

As the Scavenger neared them the floor began to crack under its mass. With another electronic hiss, it moved back. There was a muffled sound beneath them of wood clattering to the ground as the beast continued to stare at them venomously.

"It can't get too close," Two said softly. "If it tries, it'll just fall through the floor." It wasn't very reassuring. How long until the monster decided it was worth the risk? They were programmed for murder, not self-preservation.

There were more robotic noises sounding from the stairwell. The others were coming.

Once they appeared within sight, one immeadiately ignored the damaged level and lunged for them. Sarah gave out a shrill scream of terror and darted back to the safety of the study. The attacking Scavenger landed in a heap on the floor and began to rise to spring itself at them another time. However, the floor crumbled beneath it before it could.

The world seemed to be little more than a blur as the floor continued to give way. The three had nearly made it to safety before Sarah too felt her feet fall out from under her as the planks gave way with a horrid crack. In a last effort, she dove for the entrance of the study and clung fast to what remained of the floor, trying desperately to make it inside. Two and Nine held tightly to the pocket of her coat.

The floor left her and she yelped with pain as she dangled precariously over the newly made hole. The remaining Scavengers hissed at her from the other side until their sound rose to an angry, high-pitched cry.

Nine felt his grip fail him and his slid from the coat, falling down to the level below. Two screamed his name and tried to catch him to no avail. The former's arms flailed wildly, trying to grasp something—anything! With a grunt from the sudden jolt, he managed to grab hold of the lace to one of Sarah's boots.

Sarah's own grip began to falter, yet she managed to shuffle in on her hands and knees back into the study, shaking and panting heavily with panic and excursion as the Scavengers continued to scream.

"Now that they've got us trapped here," breathed Two bitterly, "They won't leave." He left his place by Sarah's chest to approach where her head lay and rubbed a hand over it soothingly. "Are you alright?"

She whimpered and kept her eyes squeezed shut, but managed a tiny nod. She lay still on the ground, wrapping her arms around her chest. He continued to console her, humming a soft tune, until she finally stopped shaking.

"There has to be another way out," Nine stated, determined. "Maybe we can sneak out the window?"

"We're too high up," reminded Two, "and I didn't see anything we could jump down to safely." Still, he looked around until he finally blinked at something on the far right side of the room and laughed. "But there might be one more way."

Nine followed Two's gaze to see a small door built into the wall. It wasn't big enough for an adult to fit through, but big enough for Sarah to squeeze through. Still, he couldn't imagine where it might lead. Together the pair of Stitchpunks scrambled over to the desk and helped each other up onto its dusty surface. Sprawled upon it were bits of wood, a typewriter, and various papers, but also a long ruler. It took some deal of effort, but the pair managed to lift it up by one end and held it out to the door.

Slowly, awkwardly, they managed to wriggle it in the crack between the door and the wall. Using all of their strength, they pushed it to one side until the door was lifted open, revealing what appeared to be a sort of elevator. There was even a pulley-system to use and it seemed to lead back down to the first floor.

"A dumbwaiter! Perfect!" Two cheered and Nine joined him, riling Sarah back with their excitement. When she saw what they had found, she smiled and offered her hands out to them to carry them before shuffling in.

As the Scavenger's noticed their retreat, their shrieks rose with a vengeance. A second attempted to jump over the hole, but found itself following the same fate as the one prior.

"We might want to be careful," Two reminded his companions, "We don't know how worn out this old thing is."

Sarah squirmed in place, her knees drawn up to her chest and the Stitchpunks sitting in her lap once they were all inside. "And there's still that last one to worry about," she added, "It's still watching us. I don't think it's smart enough to know how to find the dumbwaiter door below, but it probably knows to wait down there for us." And sure enough, as she fumbled with the rope and began to lower the box downward, they saw it dart away. "Maybe it's for the best if we just hide in here for a little while. With any luck, maybe it'll think we got away and leave."

As they descended, the light from the floor above gave way to total darkness. Two and Nine could just vaguely make out shapes, but Sarah couldn't see a thing. The dark was so omnipresent that if Sarah dared to breathe, with or without her gear, none could hear it. Indeed, all that could be heard in the stillness were the clanking of the pulley, the groan of the ropes, and the scraping of the box against the walls of the tunnel.

"Do you think there are more of them out there?" Nine asked in a whisper.

"Most definitely," Sarah answered, equally as quiet. "But normally they travel in larger groups than that—like a herd of cattle. I don't know if we'll see anymore."

"Let's hope not," he mumbled. "If they can tear apart the dead so easily, I don't want to think about what they can do to any of us."

When Sarah began to shiver once more, as if envisioning the details of such a fate, Two squeezed his shoulder disapprovingly. Nine smiled apologetically, but of course it couldn't be seen.

Sarah stopped tugging on the rope as it begin to groan louder and she inhaled with fright. Even though they halted, the dumbwaiter box continued to bounce slightly. A soft, ripping noise could be heard.

And then the rope snapped and they plummeted with terrified shrieks down into the depths of the darkness.


End file.
